


A Bout of Fever

by Katarina_Bolton



Category: Le Rouge et Le Noir - Opéra Rock, Le Rouge et Le Noir - Stendhal | The Red and The Black - Stendhal
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Illness, Realism, Short, julien gets sick, julien is smol, kinda naturalism, nothing really happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 06:49:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19246012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katarina_Bolton/pseuds/Katarina_Bolton
Summary: Julien Sorel is feeling unwell. Madame de Rênal notices.I attempted somewhat of a naturalistic "sekundenstil", but quite truthfully, only halfway committed to it (besides, there might be to much of an emphasize on introspection, for it to be classified as such to begin with).The relationship between Julien and Madame de Rênal is very interesting in my opinion, especially considering what happens down the line. I would certainly like to further explore it further in the future.





	A Bout of Fever

**Author's Note:**

> I've only yet seen the musical, with Côme, and recently begun reading the book, so I don't know ever intricacy of the plot yet, but that doesn't matter for this fic anyhow, just wanted to clarify.
> 
> (I wouldn't have published this if it weren't for the lack of content I found when looking into this fandom. I really think there should be more online appreciation for this book, outside the cyberspace (haha) everyone knows Stendhal and Le Rouge et Le Noir, it's established literature, so general popularity isn't the issue.)

The house of monsieur de Rênal loomed over the garden, like a storm cloud appearing on the horizon, growing larger and larger in size as it draws closer, the house cast it's shadow over the last of what remained of the vibrantly colorful leaves, now turned brittle and drained of their saturation. The weather was beginning to get colder. The wind made the air feel sharp against Julien's skin, as he made his way past the brushes and the flower beds, but it was a welcome change. Inside the estate the Rênals kept the room temperature high, heating all day and all night too. This, in addition to keeping the windows shut, as to ensure no warmth would escape the confines of the manor, endowed the air inside with an unparalleled staleness, which Julien came to detest, feeling as though he was being smothered whenever he entered the house.   
The sensation was bad enough on a regular day, but for all but a week Julien had been feeling unwell. It began as light fatigue, nothing too irregular, but instead of fading away after a while like usual, it grew worse. Sooner than he could grasp, the dizziness became constant, he stumbled when he got up too fast, his appetite, however small it had been anyhow, disappeared and he was overcome with bouts of fever.   
Despite feeling positively dreadful, Julien did his best not to let it show. Conducting his studies as usual, partaking in social formalities as usual and teaching the children, just as though nothing was amiss. Neither did he wish for any pity from his patrons, quite frankly the idea revolted him, nor did he think it was necessary to mention his condition. After all, he was fit to do everything they needed him to just fine, and the illness would pass at some point eventually.

As Julien walked, he felt his attention slipping away from his book too often, having to re-read the same sentence over and over because, although looking at the words, the letters, in order, as they had been written, no meaning could be derived from them. As he blinked, his eyelids felt heavy, the blackness lingering too long, he had to exert too much effort to open them again, almost as though awaking from a tiny slumber each time.   
Trying to fully regain his consciousness, Julien attempted to focus on the sound of the leaves crunching under his shoe as he took his next step. Autumn was probably his least favorite season, late autumn especially. All life was drained from nature. Where just a few months ago insects would fill the air with a constant hum, was now an eerie stillness. It felt akin to walking through a graveyard where all the corpses lay bare.   
As his foot crushed the brittle leaf, for an instant he imagined it was bone, a rib cage perhaps, and he flinched at the thought, the sound sending a shiver through his entire frame. Julien drew his hand to his chest, trying to picture the leaf again in order to banish the image of the corpse, which had invaded his mind. Finally he moved his foot aside and peered down cautiously, then sighed at the sight of the crushed leaf.  
The only silver lining was that he knew that nature would get her renaissance, as spring always came again, every year. Comforted by the thought of young sprouting flowers and milder temperatures, Julien was able to continue his excursion. 

The book felt heavy in his hands, he had to make an effort not to loose his grasp on it, as he felt his fingers become clammy. Lifting one hand away from the paperback, it was almost astounding how much his hand trembled. He attempted to steady it, but to no avail, so instead he returned it to its previous position. When Julien looked back at the pages he could not, no matter how often he blinked, pressed his eyes shut tightly and opened them again, discern anything at all any longer. The words, which he knew were there, had he not read them a few minutes earlier, had become a funny looking line that almost appeared to be dancing as he tried to observe it. Staring at the ink made his headache grow worse, so he decided there was no use in it, and went to close his book. 

It slipped through Julien's fingers and tumbled to the ground promptly. Just as he wanted to retrieve it he was startled by Madame de Rênal's voice, he hadn't noticed her approach.  
“Mon petit Julien, you look a little faint, are you feeling alright?”  
He hated it when she called him that, when anyone called him that, no matter how apt it may or may not have been, as Mme de Rênal stood almost a full head taller than him. She crouched down and picked up the fallen volume for him, to which he naturally protested, saying, as clearly as he could, that she shouldn't bother, he'd pick it up himself, but she insisted.   
He thanked her briefly, not answering her inquiry about his health. He pressed the book against his chest with both arms, making sure that despite his faint condition, it wouldn't slip from him again. When he looked up at her her features were but a blur, so badly distorted, he wouldn't have been able to recognize her amongst a crowd of strangers.   
His head felt light, it was as though the world was spinning around him, but he smiled politely and looked at where he assumed her eyes might be.  
“Thank you for your concern madame, but I am just fine.”  
Julien wondered if he had sounded convincing, his own voice droning on with a peculiar echo in his own head even after he spoke. His mouth felt to dry and when he talked, it was to him as though he had to speak through layers of fabric, muffling his words.  
When he wanted to take a step away from Mme de Rênal, to go retreat into the house, into his room where she wouldn't see him and wouldn't pry an further, he felt as though the earth itself moved away from under his foot. He stumbled, the world went dark before his eyes and suddenly he felt himself leaning into the soft fabric of Madame de Rênal's dress. Her arms around him, holding onto him, no, holding him.   
She exclaimed his name, it rung distantly in his ears, he attempted desperately to steady himself, but his knees buckled under his weight and he sank down slowly, guided by her gentle embrace. Sat on the floor with her, still slumped against her chest, he let out a sharp breath.   
“It's really nothing. I was just-... I haven't had anything to drink yet so...”  
He was stumbling over his words, at some point he didn't know anymore if his head felt hot due to the fever or the shame, having her see him in such a pitiful condition he wished for the earth to open up and just swallow him whole. Julien wanted to free himself of her grasp, feeling like it wasn't right for him to accept her help like that. He took a hold of her arm, that with which she rested her slender hand on his shoulder, and attempted to push her away.   
Madame de Rênal freed herself from his hand all too easily, taken aback by the way it trembled. She tried to seek out his expression but it was like he was trying to hide away from her. She took a hold of his hand, placing it into hers, feeling its tenderness, which was only exaggerated by its unnatural warmth. Like the little hand was glowing. She rubbed her thumb over the back of Julien's hand slowly.  
“You are scorching hot, Julien. Don't lie to me, please, I can tell you are unwell.”

She helped him up, brought him inside, seeking out the closest bedroom available, which was a guest bedroom on the first floor, much nicer than Julien's own chamber, and put him to bed. He was breathing heavily, the bed underneath his back felt soft and pleasant but his body was in agony. All the while he kept assuring Madame de Rênal that she had no reason to worry, that he does not get sick, that he would be fine if he just rested a little. He was soaked in sweat, he felt like he was being incinerated slowly, the pain in his head turned from a constant buzz to an alarming thumping and his chest felt as though it was shrinking, becoming tighter every time he inhaled.  
Carefully, Madame de Rênal, dabbed away the sweat from his forehead, the gesture so warm and motherly, Julien almost choked on his breath as he wanted to refuse it. He couldn't believe that she was doing all this for him, him who was but a low born boy who would, for the amusement of the bourgeoisie, recite the bible in Latin, he was no more to them.   
“If your condition doesn't improve, I will fetch the doctor.”  
She sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at Julien who was quite obviously in agony. He pressed his eyes shut, furrowed his brows and bit down on his lip, attempting anything in his might to surpass the pain, but somehow everything kept on getting worse. It was as though the dam, holding back the full force of this illness, had been broken by Madame de Rênal's touch, it was completely overwhelming.   
Julien whimpered softly and reached his hand out for her, no longer being able to think about what it would be he should be doing, instead simply acting upon his urges. She turned to look at him, his face red and splotchy, the grasp he had on her hand was weak and desperate, it tore her heart apart to see him like this.   
Her little Julien, so bright and proud, so beautiful, taking his walks in the garden, looking almost forlorn in his aloofness. She'd adored him from the first day, and she adored him all the more every day since. Now, having him writhe in pain, plagued by a terrible fever, she wanted nothing more than to make it all better for him. All the more it anguished her that he hadn't said a word about it, even when she had been able to guess something was wrong for days, he'd denied it to the very last second and she didn't know why.   
His silence must have been a symptom of his distrust, she concluded for herself. It hurt her pride, she almost felt a little angry with him, as she had offered him nothing but benevolence and he was refusing to open up to her, not putting the tiniest bit of trust in her, as it appeared.   
She took a deep breath and squeezed his hand, wet from his sweat and radiating heat just shy of burning her, a little more tightly before letting go of it.  
Julien lay still as he watched the fuzzy figure of Madame de Rênal move away from his bedside and towards the door. The air moved as she shut the door behind herself, the breeze felt gentle on Julien's face, pleasant even. He managed to breathe again.


End file.
